


One Single Moment

by veronicasanders



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Drinking, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 11:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11416938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicasanders/pseuds/veronicasanders
Summary: Roy gets insanely jealous when he sees Shane making out with a dude at a pride party, and turns into a miserable nightmare. Shane teases the truth out of him and they are both surprised by the results.





	One Single Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This came from an AQ fic challenge, to use the words "hate, occasion, rhythm." It's been a long time since I wrote straight-up canon fanfic (as opposed to AU) so I figured this would be fun.
> 
> TW: gay slur, as used by Bianca

Roy sits at the bar, pounding back shots, bitterness swirling around him like a dark cloud, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

It had been such a good day - a great day. It was so rare nowadays for Bianca and Courtney to get booked together, so this Pride gig was one of the most fun they’d had in years. A day of constant insults, laughter and drinking. Three of her favorite things. And Courtney. Of course. Bianca started out the intro teasing her about her pants allergy, mocked her singing, and called her a washed-up wannabe Spice Girl, among other things. Courtney relished the attention, preening and blowing kisses and deflecting by telling Bianca she was a miserable old cunt, eyes glittering with joy.

Afterwards, they’d changed and hit the town, and it was like old times. The two of them, exploring the nightlife of an unfamiliar city, pushing their way through throngs of sweaty, exuberant crowds, gripping hands and bickering, and Roy couldn’t help glancing over, amused, at Shane, his face lit up with joy at the magic of Pride, like it was something he hadn’t experienced 50 times a year for the last decade.

Roy knew that he was kidding himself. When he repeated, over and over, that they were just friends. That this imaginary boundary he set for himself was sure to get crossed at some point. That the lingering glances, the fleeting fantasies, the hugs that lasted a little too long...it had to mean something. But he stuffed his feelings down, buried them deep, held them at bay with the next best thing. A profound, ride-or-die friendship, flirting just enough to get a small thrill but never crossing That Line. Exchanging all the banter and barbs and repartee of a 30’s screwball comedy, only no happily ever after at the end. Convincing himself that he didn’t need that part, because he had his best friend. Which was more than enough, right?

And all it took was a moment, one moment, to destroy everything.

The club was a two-story monstrosity with pounding bass and swirling lights. Shane hung on Roy’s arm, doing his typical thing, flirting with everyone who came within a 6-foot radius, begging Roy to dance. But Roy had another plan - drink until he felt happily buzzed, then, only once he'd put up a good fight, let Shane get his way, dragging him onto the dance floor. Where they'd be sandwiched together in the final ecstatic hour before closing, and Roy could stare into his gleaming eyes for a song or two, the dizzying lights and drunken crowd a perfect cover for an illicit, sweaty, not-quite-friends, not-quite-more embrace.

“Please?”

“I said no, you wretched cumbiscuit,” Roy countered, dimples deep in his cheeks, waving at the bartender again.

“Enough drinking, come dance,” Shane whined.

“I’ve only had two drinks, and I hate dancing…”

“You’ve PURCHASED two drinks, B. That dude over there bought us shots, and you also had drinks at dinner, and we’ve been to three other bars today where I’m pretty sure you were drinking--”

“So now you’re tracking my alcohol intake, asshole?” Roy feigned offense.

Shane giggled, tugging on his arm. “I’m just saying, I think you’re fully lubricated enough that you can handle a dance floor.”

“Lubricated?” Roy raised his eyebrow.

“Yes! Pleeeease…” Shane simpered.

“Mmmm...no.” Roy shook him off, tossing him a bunch of dismissive air kisses.

Shane pouted prettily. “Fine…I’ll just dance on my own then…” He pointed to the speakers, where Robyn’s ‘Dancing On My Own’ was playing.

Rolling his eyes, Roy lifted his glass in a toast. “Kismet!” he shouted, as Shane giggled and began to sing along, clutching his chest dramatically.

“ _Oooh-ooh-ooh......I’ll keep dancing on my own…_ ” He twirled, finding a group of girls in rainbow flower headbands to dance who shrieked happily, screaming, “OMIGOD, COURTNEY!”

“I’m gonna go pee!” Roy called out to him.

Shane made the “WHATEVER” sign, tongue out.

“MATURE, BITCH!” Roy shouted, shaking his head and laughing some more.

Roy couldn’t have been in the bathroom for more than five minutes. And that’s only because there was a line. But when he stepped out, Shane wasn’t with those girls anymore. He was on the far side of the dance floor, pressed up against the wall, making out with some dude. Some fucking man whore in rainbow mesh shorts, triceps bulging, ass like a shelf, the smooth tan skin of his back glowing with youth and vigor.

It was like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

And Roy could suddenly feel every drop of alcohol he’d had drowning him in adrenaline. All he saw, was Shane... _his_ Shane, in the arms of this stranger; the shock of a newfound possessiveness was nothing compared to the unjustified anger that nearly knocked him sideways.

And that’s the moment when everything suddenly changed. When seething, blinding hate for this person Roy had never met began to course through his veins like fire. When his heart pounded with rage, his chest tight with the kind of intense jealousy that left him gasping for air.

He turned back to the bar, ordering shots, one after the other, and as he downed them, in quick succession, as he went back over the day’s events, thinking about how everything can shatter in an instant. _Love is bullshit._ A figment of our adolescent delusions.

There’d been no promises made between them. Roy had to admit that, as he drowned his bitterness with more and more liquor. So why did that moment feel like such a betrayal? It had always seemed, for all their head games, for all their bullshit, that at least they were on the same page. But now…

He swallowed the last shot in one gulp, the pathetic thought echoing in his head like the worst mantra of all time, unanswerable and dripping with self-loathing...

_What is wrong with me?_

And now here he is. Drunk, angry, disoriented. Filled with the horrifying realization that he has somehow, without meaning to, fallen for one of his best friends. His best friend. Who hasn’t the faintest idea. Who is probably off fucking some 25 year old underwear model on a stairwell right now. Roy feels sick, shakes his mind free of that terrible imagery, but is left with something worse - his own feelings.

If he’s honest with himself, it isn’t the feelings that bother him - he’s known about that for ages, and made his peace with their fucked up, unrequited dynamic. It’s this suffering, this pitiful feeling of helpless, jealous rage, that is pissing him off. Because he knows that after tonight, after what he just saw, all of his courage is gone. He knows now that he’s not ever going to have the guts to _do_ anything. To _say_ anything. He’ll be trapped. Forever doomed to watch from the outside, always invited to the party, but never really part of it.

Circling his finger on the rim of his glass, he tries to think about anything else- he looks around the bar for _someone_ else to think about, but no one compares to Shane, unfortunately. It’s horrendous, to know he’s stuck in this miserable state of--

“Hey!”

Roy rubs his eyes, looking up to see Shane standing in front of him, bright-eyed, like nothing has happened. Like it’s all just a normal, magical night at the club. Lips a bit swollen, courtesy of his little friend back on the dance floor. _Slut._ “Having fun?” Roy can’t help the nasty, bitter edge his voice has.

“Yeah. I wish you were. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I dunno. Too many faggots, I guess.”

“Wow, Nice. Happy Pride!” Shane lifts his arms up, grinning. “Remember to save some of that festive spirit for the rest of us.”

“Ugh.”

“Seriously, where’d that winning smile disappear to?” Shane teases, poking him in the cheek. “Why do you look like such a morose dickhead?”

“Why are you such a fuckin whore?”

Shane raises his eyebrows, eyes dancing with laughter. Lips twisted in an infuriating smirk. “Ummmm...I dunno. That’s a good question. Maybe ‘cause it’s fun?”

Roy scoffs.

Shane leans in, whispering, “I have something really important to tell you, though.”

“Yeah, what?” Roy asks flatly.

Shane lifts a finger, pausing dramatically for a moment, and then sings breathily against his ear, along with the music, _“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…”_

Roy shakes him off. He can’t take the lighthearted flirting right now. It’s intended to make him smile, make him laugh, he knows this, but it’s doing the opposite. It’s making him want to scream, pound his fists on the table, to throw his glass against the wall.

 _“Na na na, come on…”_ Shane continues, taunting Roy, fingers dancing along the back of his neck as he moves his hips rhythmically against him.

“Stop it!”

Shane laughs. “Fine. You know what you are? You’re the Grinch who stole Pride!” He shimmies back over to the dance floor, once again immediately finding a group of people to dance with, tossing sultry glances back over his shoulder.

Roy groans into his drink. Getting drunk is a lot more fun when he doesn’t feel so miserable, and of course when he’s not pining over his best friend, who seems to be having the time of his life. Roy wishes he could feel the same excitement everyone seemed to be having - maybe he’s just getting too old for nights on the tear, watching everyone else get lucky. He manages to ignore him for awhile, takes a few photos with excited fans, feigning enthusiasm, until he feels hands on his waist, hot breath on his neck, Whitney being crooned in his ear.

 _“_ _I need a man who'll take a chance_  
_On a love that burns hot enough to last_  
 _So when the night falls_  
 _My lonely heart caaaaaaalls…”_

Shane slides his hands up and down Roy’s back, and there’s a haunting electricity between them; that maybe had been there the whole time if Roy bothered to have acknowledged it before. Roy feels a shiver go through him as the blonde bites playfully at him, lips grazing his neck.

 _“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody_  
_I wanna feel the heat with somebody_  
 _Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody_  
 _With somebody who loves me…”_

Roy glares at him. “Delightful. Shocking that you didn’t win Idol. It’s like Whitney’s come back from the dead.”

Shane giggles. “Why thank you, sir.”

“Pfff,” Roy scoffs, irritated.

He slings an arm around Roy’s shoulders. “So. Ready to join in the party yet, or still wanna sit here drowning your sorrows like a hateful old hag?”

“Hateful old hag is my AOL screenname,” Roy shoots back, glowering at him.

“AOL? Damn, you _are_ old!” Shane’s eyes twinkle. “Come dance.”

Roy raises his middle finger. “Go fuck yourself.”

Shane sighs. “It’s PRIDE! And it’s your birthday week! It’s a special occasion! What kind of gay man goes to Pride and doesn’t at least grind against a couple of cute guys at a club? Or, _maybe_ just one particularly attractive blonde guy with a _sexy_ aussie accent.”

Roy rolls his eyes, curses softly under his breath before managing to meet Shane’s eyes with a playful glare. “We’re fucking drag queens, you asshole. This is my fifth Pride this year, and I’m booked for 47 more. I think I’m good.” He isn’t even going to touch the fucking _birthday_ comment. Another fucking year. _Fabulous._

Shane laughs. “America’s next drag superstar...Bianca Del Rio!”

“Hey, I won the grand prize, not Miss Congeniality. So…” Roy tosses back the rest of his drink and catches the eye of the bartender, gesturing for another.

“Alright, well. Good luck with that drink. What’s that, number 22?” Shane tugs affectionately on his ear.

Roy slaps his hand away. “Stop it. I don’t know, I’m not fuckin counting.”

Shane’s eyes suddenly light up. “Britney!” He presses a wet kiss to Roy’s cheek, right by his ear, and skips back to the dance floor.

Roy accepts the fresh drink and takes a sip, closing his eyes. He turns around to give Shane some judgmental side-eye, and is met with a full-on Courtney performance, writhing and grinding to the heavy rhythm of the pounding bass, using boys from the dance floor as props.

_“I'm a...slaaaave for you, I cannot hold it, I cannot control it_   
_I'm a...slaaaave for you, I won't deny it, I'm not trying to hide it_   
_Baby, don't you wanna, dance up on me...”_

Roy grips his glass, seething. God, was he always so _naive_? Maybe in his 20s when the most important thing was getting a tan and not catching something from a club toilet, but he thought age had taught him to be cynical and unbreakable- a better, stronger person in his opinion. He wanted to be aloof with his emotions, but here he was with his heart on his sleeve, all because he saw his best friend kissing someone else. When did he acquire human feelings, and a real working lustful, _loving_ heart?! He looks back into the crowd, seeing Shane in the midst of dozens of people’s heated desires, and he tries to arrange the cluttering within his mind to have a clearer focus on what feeling is the most prominent.

Of course Shane has no idea how this seductive little performance is the last fucking thing Roy needs. How what he perceives as some typical flirting, a little teasing to cheer up his friend in a bad mood, is actually driving him fucking crazy. Every flash of his eyes, every arch of his back, thrust of his hips. Hands running up his body, tongue slowly licking his lips...Shane is just being Shane. Just playing around, tossing invisible hair and pulling faces and Roy has no idea why it’s suddenly having this kind of effect on him.

The result, actually, is that Roy is getting angrier and angrier until he is literally fuming; smoke pouring out his ears, eyes turning red _rage_. After the last drink - another double shot, which he finishes in one gulp, slamming down the glass so hard it nearly breaks, he closes out his tab and slides off the stool, pulling on his sweatshirt and heading for the door, blood boiling.

-

He’s almost halfway down the block when he feels Shane’s hands grabbing him from behind. He groans. So much for his escape.

“Hey! Were you seriously going to abandon me back there?”

Roy doesn’t answer, keeps walking.

“Bianca!”

Roy shrugs him off. “It didn’t seem like you’d miss me.”

“Um, what the fuck, B? We’re alone in a strange city! What happened to the buddy system? This is how someone ends up dead in a ditch. You wanna leave, you have to at least tell me, so I know you’re okay…”

“Maybe I’m not okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fairly obvious.” Shane laughs. “So what’s your problem? You were fine earlier. Did you get bad news or something?”

“Just...drop it…”

“You used to be a lot more fun…” Shane pokes him in the side.

“You used to have a lot more hair.”

Shane pretends to be offended. “Low blow.”

“Yeah, well.” Roy looks away, striding down the street, hands deep in his pockets.

Shane prances beside him, pestering him. “Well, then, what’s the problem? Old man can’t hang in until closing? All that joy and celebration getting you down?”

“Shut up, Courtney.”

Shane laughs gaily, as a clap of thunder sounds and rain begins to fall.

“FUCK!”

Shane pulls Roy’s hoodie up over his head, tucking it around him in a maternal fashion. “Would you calm down? It’s just a little rain!”

“Yeah, well, I fucking hate the rain, and now we’re trapped in it, and we’re gonna get soaking wet, and it’s just the perfect end to this fucking night.”

Shane continues to hurry along beside him, pulling his own sweatshirt on. “You know, rain is good. It helps things grow. Without rain, we can’t eat, or--”

“Fucking FUCK, will you just stop it, with all this Pollyanna bullshit! I can’t take it anymore!” Roy bellows.

Shane stops. “Sure, if you tell me why you’re being such a wretched cunt.”

“It’s...I…”

“Come on, B, just talk to me. The sooner you ‘fess up, the sooner we can get out of the rain…” Shane teases, putting his hands on Roy’s chest.

Roy swallows, the knot stuck in his throat formed of his many acidic emotions, and it _burns_ to take back down. He knows this isn’t a good idea, but somehow, the alcohol swirling in his bloodstream makes him feel more reckless than usual, and numbs that knot enough to let him speak. Maybe if he just says it, gets it out in the open, then it will stop having a hold on him. And they can go back to normal. The sober part of him would be screaming at himself: “ _Shut the fuck up, you cunt! Don’t you dare, or else I’ll personally rip off one of your fucking-_ ”

“Well…?”

Roy recuperates his lost sensibility as his eyes look anywhere _but_ Shane’s. “I...I might…have been a little jealous back there.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “Jealous? Jealous...of who?” He tilts his head coquettishly, decides to offer him an out. “I can teach you that Britney choreo if you want…”

Roy scoffs, irritated. “Nevermind, you fuckin twat.”

“I’m sorry!” Shane giggles, suddenly a little self-conscious. He regrets making light of the moment, wants him to keep talking, “Really, just...I’m listening. Just tell me what you mean.”

Clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact, Roy lowers his voice and says quickly, “I just...I might sort of, uh, be attracted to you.” He glances back at him, pulse racing with fear.

Shane looks up at him, tiny raindrops collecting on his eyelashes, green eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlights. “Is that all?” he asks. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He leans in, pressing his lips against Roy’s, one hand moving to the back of his neck.

For a moment, Roy is in sheer bliss, warmth radiating through him, rain be damned, as he pulls Shane closer, savoring the taste of his lips. But then the reality of the situation slams into him like a ton of bricks and he shoves the blonde backwards, flustered and panting, confusion taking over. “Why are you acting like this is _simple_?” he demands hoarsely.

“Isn’t it?” Shane asks, cocking his head to the side. A little laugh escapes him, and he reaches for Roy’s hand.

“I mean, it’s...it’s fucking _us_! How can you...this _isn’t_ simple!” Roy insists.

“...And they say you’re the smart one,” Shane says, stepping closer. “Must be the glasses and sarcasm...you’ve got everybody fooled. Not me, though. I know those books you read are just celebrity memoirs you buy in airports. You’re really pretty dumb, obviously, or you’d know that this...is actually...very fucking simple--”

Roy is reeling, exhausted from the utter mindfuck of it all. “Will you _shut_ the _fuck_ up?”

Shane leans in, a challenging grin on his face. “Make me.”

There - eyeing one another up, tension rising along with the heat, warm rain pounding against his face - Roy doesn’t know what up from down is anymore. And he realizes that maybe their defining moment, the one that matters, wasn’t the one back in the club when his vision blurred with rage, the sight of Shane with that asshole, the forgotten celebrant lost in a cloud of glitter and strobe lights. Maybe _this_ is the moment that will matter. The one that will change everything. And so he decides to throw caution to the wind just like the 20 year old he used to be would have done. All in the spirit of Pride, right?

Roy spins them around, pinning Shane to the side of the nearest building, grabbing him roughly and kissing him deeply, desperately, letting all of his pent up frustration out, everything he’s been longing for since before he knew he wanted it. He moans against Shane’s mouth, raindrops now coming faster, hitting his back, soaking through his sweatshirt.

“See? I told you,” Shane pants, cheeks flushed, “Simple.”

“We have to get out of here,” Roy states, feeling himself already losing control, needing more, hungry in a way that is causing him physical pain, and off Shane’s nod, asks, “Where’s the hotel? Where the fuck are we?”

Breathing hard, Shane asks, “Uh...I don’t...isn’t that where you were walking?”

“I was just walking, I was pissed...where were you walking?”

Shane laughs. “I was following you! Blind leading the blind, eh?”

“Fuuuuuck!” Roy turns his face to the sky, letting the rain hit him, pressing Shane harder against the building, whimpering in distress.

“Alright, alright, I’ll call an uber.” He pulls out his phone, one hand on Roy’s cheek, thumb stroking him soothingly.

Roy nuzzles the side of his face, finally relaxing a little. “You sound pretty sexy saying that.”

Shane chuckles and repeats “Ubaaah…” in an exaggerated accent. He finds the app and squeals delightedly. “Ooh, look, I love it when the cars have rainbows on them! Pride!”

“You’re a 12 year old girl,” Roy murmurs against his ear.

“Just call me Lolita.”

Roy makes a face. “Would you hurry up and get the car, asshole?”

-

Given how anxious and handsy Roy was in the back of the Uber, Shane isn’t surprised that once they are in the hotel room, he turns into a caged animal who’s just been unleashed - tearing at his wet clothes, throwing him onto the bed, sucking bruises into his skin, pulling his hair. It’s like he’s trying to devour Shane, body and soul.

What does surprise Shane is that he seesaws between this raw, animalistic passion, and a kind of unsettled anxiety that he’s too drunk to properly articulate. Something along the lines of “this changes everything,” and “what does this mean,” and when Shane tries to soothe his fears, by saying they don’t need to worry, let’s just enjoy tonight, live in the moment, that seems to make it worse.

“You don’t understand, you don’t understand…” he frets at one point, burying his face against Shane’s stomach, clutching his ass with both hands. Roy looks at Shane, at his best friend, and he just knows. He wants him so much, more than anything, and yet...it’s too much, it’s not just a night of fun, and Shane doesn’t get it. He’s not going to be able to just bounce back from this, go back to how it was before. He’s not like Shane. He can’t put things in neat little boxes, separate emotion from sex, love from friendship - not with _him_. “You don’t understand…” he repeats.

Shane understands just fine. He understands that they’ve been rolling around on the bed together for thirty minutes by now, and he’s good and ready to get fucked, and all this circular talk is starting to get annoying. But he also understands that Roy is thoroughly inebriated, probably blackout, and most likely this isn’t going to happen, (for purely...logistical reasons) and so he takes Roy’s face in his hands, kissing his swollen lips. “I do, I understand. You’re worried that things are going to change. Right?”

Roy nods, sleepy eyes falling closed as Shane strokes his hair. “Uh huh...I don’t want...I mean I do...fuck…” He digs his fingers into Shane’s waist.

 _The one time you have to show human emotion, aye Haylock?_ Shane thinks. _Couldn’t just be some kind of sex robot and do your damn job._ “I know.” Shane looks into his eyes, unable to stop the wave of sadness that overtakes him as Roy ruts desperately against him.

“I’ve ruined everything...haven’t I?”  

Shane pulls the comforter over them, easing Roy onto his back, a firm hand on his thigh stilling his urgent movements. “Listen. Maybe tonight isn’t…you’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t want you to do something you’re gonna regret tomorrow.”

Roy is breathing hard. He wants to protest but the room is spinning and Shane’s body is warm beside him and so he just nods, slowly drinking the glass of water Shane forces on him, pounding heart slowing down as Shane curls against him, rubbing his shoulders, kissing his neck, gently playing with his fingers. He feels as if he’s been on a roller coaster with the erratic twists his emotions took him on, and now he’s left to recover. He wants to throw up, but whether that’s from the come down of drinking or Shane’s soft touch, he isn’t sure.

Shane can’t stop touching him. He realizes that there’s a very real possibility of Roy waking up in the morning with no memory of any of it. He wonders what, if anything, he should tell him. Maybe it’s better this way. Because as much as he wants this...whatever it is...he knows that Roy isn’t him. That he doesn’t have the same ability to seize the moment, let loose, and just play. That whatever turmoil he was experiencing will be magnified tenfold in the harsh light of day, without alcohol to dull the pain. The major difference being, once sober, he’ll bottle it up inside and it will just eat away at him.

Wrapping his arms around Roy’s warm, familiar body, Shane presses a cheek to his shoulder, holding back tears, making a decision then and there. He won’t burden him with the embarrassing reality of rain-soaked confessions or desperate embraces or the tangle of limbs that ultimately led nowhere. What Roy remembers, that’s the reality. What Shane remembers...that part can disappear in the whisper of the witching hour. A sacrifice to the gods of Pride. For a second, Shane doesn’t know who he hates more - himself or Roy, as he clings to him in the dark, holding on as long as he can, until he feels sleep tugging at him.

He kisses Roy, who is snoring by now, one final time, running a hand through his hair, and rolls over to the other side of the bed, shivering slightly.

-

The first thing Roy sees, when he manages to pry open his eyes, which feel like they are glued shut, is the array of hangover cures on the nightstand. Painkiller, gatorade, alka-seltzer. He even smells fresh coffee. He blinks, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He’s in a hotel room. It’s not his hotel room, but it looks similar. Did he hook up with someone? He’s definitely naked, all signs point to yes. Who?

That’s when he sees it. The wigs. The costumes. The makeup case open and spread out on the dresser. The... _fuck fuck fuck_. He’s not in a random hotel room. He’s in _Courtney’s_ hotel room. This is bad. He sits up in a panic.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.” Shane, in a pair of the skimpiest orange briefs Roy has ever seen, and an Alaska tank top, strolls casually over to the nightstand, dropping the Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water.

“What...what am I…?” Roy’s heart pounds. He starts to have a full-on anxiety attack, looking up at Shane, sputtering, “Did we--what happened--why am I--Oh fuck--”

“Relax. Drink.” Shane shoves the glass at him. “Coffee?”

Roy nods, gulping down the alka-seltzer. He watches Shane walk over to pour him a cup of coffee, then crawl onto the bed to hand it to him, along with two advil.

Shane sits on his heels, chewing on his lip. “Better?”

Roy shifts uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tight around his waist. “Uh…” _What the fuck happened last night?_ He tries to piece it together. He remembers the restaurant where they ate dinner, some tapas place, making fun of the way Shane began with his finger in the air, dainty as could be, and finished by shoving the delicious Spanish food directly down his throat. He remembers laughing a lot, and wine, and walking arm in arm to some bar, more drinks, a dance club, and then...Shane kissing some guy, that feeling of intense jealousy, wanting to drown his rage, dull his senses...then things got hazy. He clears his throat, voice shakier than he intends. “What...happened last night?”

Shane takes the empty coffee cup back and sets it on the nightstand. “Nothing. I mean...you drank a lot. So...the usual. That’s it.”

Roy is skeptical. “Then why the fuck am I naked in your bed?”

“Because you were naked when you passed out.”

He begins to get irritated. “Why was I naked?”

Shane shrugs.

“Courtney.”

“Don’t worry about it. I told you, nothing happened.”

Roy stares at him, eyes narrowed, a queasy feeling in his stomach. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you shouldn't get blackout drunk so much. In your 20s, that’s partying. In your 40s, it's just called alcoholism.”

Roy grabs him by the wrists. “What. Happened?” He has no idea why Shane is being so fucking elusive. Normally he crows about every conquest before it even happens. Normally, he’d be embellishing, laying it on thick, spinning a tall tale about their alleged drunken hook-up that made Blanche Deveraux blush.

Shane heaves a deep sigh. “It was...you were drunk. I don’t know if you even...you were in a mood, and I was harassing you to tell me why, and you said that you were attracted to me--”

Roy winces, an involuntary reaction that he immediately regrets, mostly because of the hurt look in Shane’s eyes as he continues.

“--Yeah, exactly, which I know would never have happened if you weren’t intoxicated, and I kissed you, and…” Shane hesitates, looking away.

“...and?” Roy’s mind is reeling. He doesn’t remember, and yet, there’s a lingering sense memory, as if he can taste Shane on his lips, feel their bodies pressed together. His heart races.

“And we came back here, and we made out a little, thus the nudity, and I realized that you were like, pretty much incapacitated and I’d be a sexual predator if I let things go any farther simply because of a selfish desire to live in the moment,” Shane says, words now spilling out of his mouth quickly, his voice taking on a bit of an edge as he adds pointedly, “and honestly, who knows if they even _could_ have…”

Roy purses his lips. He's not really in a position to protest that particular accusation. But if they didn’t sleep together, why is Shane being so...so...

Shane continues, “And then we went to sleep. So...you’re good. Virtue intact. You can go back to pretending you have no feelings, and I can go back to--”

Roy’s had enough. The expression on Shane’s beautiful face, his eyes misty. Roy can feel an instinct taking over, can feel the desire for intimacy that goes entirely against his nature. And he knows, that this moment matters more than all the others. That he needs to end this miserable _dance_ they’ve been doing, this dynamic that’s been destroying them both while they looked the other way. So he pulls Shane closer, and whispers, “What makes you think I want to pretend?”

Shane’s heart begins to hammer in his chest. “It just seemed like...you regretted it right away and wouldn’t want to--”

Roy silences him with a kiss, forceful and slow, tongue invading Shane’s mouth. His hands wander down Shane’s body, wrapping around his waist, catching him completely off guard. After a few moments, they separate, breathless, and just look at each other, hearts pounding.

“Still drunk, huh?” Shane teases gently.

“Must be…” Roy replies, rolling him over, lips against his neck.

Shane grabs a handful of his hair, inhaling sharply as Roy finds his pulse point and sucks, hands now sliding slowly up his shirt. It doesn’t take long for Shane to realize that where last night he’d been desperate, messy, insecure...today he’s deliberate, controlled, torturously slow.

Biting down hard on his lip, Shane arches up, color rising to his cheeks. Roy has removed his shirt and now works his way down his torso, licking him, kissing him, sucking gently at last night’s bruises.

“Are you...are you sure?” Shane breathes. He’s not going to be able to handle another near miss. “Last night--”

“Forget about last night,” Roy murmurs, warm breath against Shane’s skin driving him mad. “I started this. I’m going to finish it…”

Shane simply nods, gripping Roy’s hair harder, giving himself over to the moment, letting his eyes fall closed, surprised by how easily he was giving up control. Usually he was all about manipulating the situation, being the one in charge, either overtly or by intentionally allowing himself to be objectified, putting on some kind of a show.

But right now, the way Roy’s hands glide over his skin, the way his eyes gleam with desire, Shane feels dizzy, like he’s spinning out into space, Roy’s body against his all that’s anchoring him to the physical world. He feels _seen_ in a way that leaves him breathless, and cherished in a way that makes him open and raw.

He takes ahold of Roy’s face and kisses him deeply, tasting the plushness of his mouth, wrapping a thigh around him, heart racing. He gropes blinding for the nightstand, flinging open the drawer and pulling out the condoms and lube he’d abandoned there after last night’s disaster.

Roy glances over, slightly amused. “In a hurry, huh?” He trails a finger teasingly down Shane’s thigh.

“If you remembered last night, you’d have a bit more fucking empathy,” Shane says, fingers digging into his waist, following it up with a breathy, “...please?”

Roy flashes mischievous grin, trailing lips along Shane’s jaw, his neck, finally breathing into his ear, “Turn over.”

Shane feels a shiver run down his spine as they lock eyes. He nods, panting, flipping onto his stomach, closing his eyes, aware of nothing but the weight of Roy’s body bearing down on his, the sound of his heartbeat, the rough feel of his face where his beard is growing in. Shane reaches an arm back to wrap around his neck, turning his face to tangle their tongues together, utterly lost in the moment.

It surprises Roy, how easy it is for him to let all the worries and anxieties and fears slip away, once Shane is finally in his arms. He can feel the blonde melting against his touch, and suddenly it’s all perfectly right. Shane’s body molds to his, pushing backwards. His moans start airily, growing more and more intense. Roy holds him closer, tighter, moving faster, gripping his hips.

Shane is panting, trembling, so close now, he can practically taste it in his throat. So when Roy suddenly pulls away, he lets out an aggrieved groan of pure frustration, turning around, eyes blazing with anger.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Roy teases, dimples deep in his cheeks, “I just wanted to see your pretty face.”

Shane lays back down, hooking a leg over Roy’s shoulder, arching up, nails digging into his neck. “This is the face of a person...about to die.”

“You’re being very dramatic.”

“Ughh!”

Roy silences him with another kiss, pressing him down into the mattress. “Stop whining and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

Shane grips him tighter, knuckles turning white. “I think I liked you better drunk.”

Roy’s head drops to Shane’s shoulder, unable to suppress an evil cackle. He lifts his eyes a moment later to see Shane’s heavy-lidded, pleading eyes. He takes a finger and traces his lips, moving slowly against him. “God, you’re beautiful…”

Rolling his eyes, Shane decides to take matters into his own hands, flipping Roy onto his back and climbing on top of him, hovering over him on his hands and knees. “Would you just shut up and fuck me?” Shane asks, hands on his shoulders.

Roy grins up at him. “Only if you say please…”

Shane narrows his eyes, lowering himself down slowly, watching Roy’s face melt from a challenging smirk into blissful agony. He sighs in relief, rolling his hips, digging his fingers into Roy’s skin.

Roy begins to thrust up, slowly, hands sliding up Shane’s thighs to wrap around his waist, wondering why the fuck it’s taken him so many years to bite the bullet. Staring into Shane’s eyes, pupils dilated with lust, the feeling of his warm, flushed skin, the way he leans forward, mouth pressed hungrily to Roy’s own, sucking on his lips - it’s all better than Roy ever imagined. He moves one hand around to press Shane’s dick to his stomach.

“Ohhh, god!”

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” Roy says with a smirk, thrusting up faster.

Shane responds by biting down hard on Roy’s shoulder as his muscles start to contract, moaning into his skin, gasping for breath, grasping handfuls of Roy’s thick hair in his hands.

Roy quickly rolls him back over, taking charge again for the final ecstatic moments, driving into him harder, pinning one leg back. There’s something primal and aggressive, like he’s proving something to both of them, completely eradicating the bitter memories of the night before.

It seems to be working, by the rapturous expression on Shane’s face. Roy cradles his head with one hand, pressing their foreheads together, the other stroking his dick, earning indecipherable moans and whimpers. He brushes his lips against Shane’s jaw, stroking harder, feels him explode in his hand, muscles tightening, and finally lets himself start to come too.

Shane gulps for oxygen, hands stroking Roy’s back, arching up against him to help him through. Roy groans into his hair, lips pressed to his temple. Afterwards, Shane has an urge to say something snarky, but suddenly finds his mind a complete blank. So he sighs, inhaling the scent of Roy’s skin, listening to the sound of his heart beating wildly.

-

Roy curls around Shane’s back, fingers skating over his skin, both of them slick from sweat. He can feel Shane’s pulse still racing, as he tries to catch his own breath. “So...better than last night?”

Shane chuckles, lacing his fingers through Roy’s. “Yeah, I’d say it was slightly more satisfying.”

Roy lays a head on his shoulder. “I’ll take it.” He closes his eyes, breathing in, attempting to push down the nagging thoughts that tug at him, threatening to destroy the serenity of the moment. Those pesky, frustrating thoughts that he can’t shake. _What now? Where do we go from here? Was this just a one-time thing?_ That queasy feeling is returning, accompanied by the all-too-familiar self loathing. Why can’t he just _enjoy_ things as they come? His stomach churns, when suddenly he’s shaken out of these spiraling thoughts, surprised by the next words out of Shane’s mouth.

“Think you might want to do it again sometime?”

He lifts his head to look into Shane’s eyes, propping himself up on his elbow, trying to suppress a smile as he teases, “What happened to living in the moment?”

Shane pauses before replying softly, “I guess I'm feeling greedy.” He holds Roy’s gaze, bringing his fingers to his lips. There was a point last night, where he was fairly certain that this was just going to be sex. And he’d been okay with it, then. But somehow, now, in this moment, he knows that he needs more. And so he looks at Roy, eyes burning, heart in his throat, as he says, “I guess I want more moments.”

Roy smiles, taking Shane’s face in his hands, dimples deep in his cheeks. “You can have them all,” he replies.


End file.
